


The Prince's Song

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [66]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Dancing and Singing, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Reader-Insert, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: When Loki got comfortable with you, he started singing. And you never want him to stop.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 13
Kudos: 178





	The Prince's Song

Loki did a lot more singing that you would have expected.

The man that he was, before, with all his anger and fear, of course he wasn’t much of a singer. And how could you blame him? Before, he’d been cooped up in the Tower with a team of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, each of whom had, at one time, wanted him dead. When you’d spent time with him there, he’d always seemed...cramped, maybe, or squashed. He was penned in and had no room to move. He reminded you a lot of a feral cat caught in a trap. There wasn’t much he could do but bare his teeth and try to fight his way out. So. Not much singing.

But here in your silly, tiny little apartment, he seemed so much more free? Even on good days it felt like the two of you were never really out of arm’s reach of each other, but he was so much more relaxed and...well, maybe not quite _open_ , because it seemed strange to ever think of Loki as being _open_ , but he was certainly warmer.

And he started singing.

You first noticed it when he showered. Whether he did it first thing in the morning or last thing at night, he’d close himself into the bathroom and it didn’t take long before you could hear his voice ringing out over the sound of rushing water. The first few times he did it, you had to stop what you were doing so you could just sit and listen. His voice was lovely, of course, deep and rich, and even though you couldn’t understand the words he was singing, pleasant chills raced through your body at the sound of him. 

It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize what it meant. About a week and a half into his shower-time concerts, you’d been sitting cross-legged on the couch with your computer in your lap because you were trying to work, but when you heard him start singing, realization hit you like a brick. He felt comfortable here. He knew the walls of your apartment were thin. He’d made that observation himself. He had to know that you could hear him, but he didn’t mind singing anyway. 

When he came out of the bathroom, still rubbing a towel over his wet hair, you’d all but thrown yourself at him and hugged him tightly so he wouldn’t be able to see the happy tears in your eyes.

Sometimes you played music when you worked. Whether you were doing actual work for your actual job online or tidying up the apartment, music kept you company. It played through the speaker on your phone and sometimes you mouthed the words as you worked. It became almost a regular occurrence for you to be vacuuming or dusting or something, only for Loki to suddenly appear and sweep you into his arms to dance around the living room like it was a grand ballroom. You’d never thought of yourself as much of a dancer, but Loki was a great leader, and made it easy for you to find the rhythm and follow him. He usually kept his face regal and perfectly composed, at least until you got the giggles. Then he’d sigh and make a face like you’d ruined something, but you could always tell how he truly felt when he kissed your forehead.

Once, when you actually dissolved into laughter so intense that you couldn’t stand up anymore, you dragged him to the floor. He growled and murmured threats at you, vowing revenge for ruining such a beautiful moment, but you’d only laughed harder. Long fingers traced your sides, dug into your ribcage, and he made you laugh for entirely different reasons. When you were gasping and pleading for mercy, he let his hands go still on you and kissed the tip of your nose. His eyes were soft. He started singing along to the music playing on your phone. Maybe you played that song a lot, then. He must have seen the shock in your expression, because his lips curled into a smile even as he continued to sing. Slowly, he pressed careful, meditative kisses to your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips, singing all the while. Your heart raced and you sent out desperate prayers of gratitude to whatever powers may or may not have been controlling the universe.

He must have realized what he did to you when he sang, because he started doing it other times, too. When it was his turn to make dinner for the two of you, you’d hear him humming to himself as he worked. He still mostly stuck with the otherworldly melodies that you knew had to come from Asgard, but here and there you’d recognize a tune from one of your favorite songs. It was a heady feeling, hearing songs that you’d loved for years, songs that had gotten you through hard times growing up, flowing from this beautiful and miraculous man, and you couldn’t get over it. When he sang in the kitchen, you nearly always wound up leaning in the doorway, watching him work and just...smiling like an idiot.

Most of the time, you got the sense that he knew you were there. He wouldn’t look at you, but sometimes his voice would get sillier, almost operatic, and he’d move in these grand sweeping gestures that made you laugh out loud. When you did, he’d spin around to face you and put his hands on his heart, or on his cheeks, and exclaim about how he’d had _no idea you were there, darling, oh, I’m just_ so _embarrassed._

But sometimes he was really caught up in whatever he was doing, or really focusing on a recipe on your computer screen. He’d just keep working, his brow furrowed. He only ever stopped singing when he got really frustrated. When he did, you knew it was time to sneak up behind him and slide your arms around his waist. He was exceedingly good at hiding his reactions, but you grew exceedingly good at reading the hints in his body. He’d stiffen for only a moment when you touched him, or he’d let out a quick rush of breath when you pressed your face against his back. You didn’t quite like startling him, but you did like the quiet little laugh he’d give you when he realized it was only you. 

Maybe your favorite time, however, was when he sang to you in bed. When night drew in around you, sometimes it brought with it memories you’d rather forget, or nightmares you tried to escape. At first, you’d tried to hide it from him. You’d lie perfectly still under the covers and stare at the ceiling with eyes that burned. Somehow he always knew. He’d murmur your name in that low, rough voice that you came to associate with the night, and then pull you in closer to him. That usually helped. His deep, even breaths and the reassuring certainty of his body would be enough to distract you from your thoughts, and you would drift off to sleep sheltered in his arms.

But of course he knew when it wasn’t enough. 

On nights when the tension refused to leave your body even then, he’d lift his head to look at you. You tried not to meet his gaze, too afraid of seeing something like resentment or annoyance, but he just kissed you tenderly and held you even closer. And he’d sing. To you. The intimacy of it all always made tears spring to your eyes, of course: the way the sound rumbled through him almost like the purr of a cat. Usually, on these nights, he stuck with Asgardian songs. Lullabies, maybe, meant to soothe a child to sleep. Some part of you always wanted to ask what he was singing, but mostly you didn’t want to spoil it. On your worst nights, he’d sing a simple tune, almost like a chant, and after a while, it would make your whole body feel lighter with relief. When he sang to you, you sometimes lifted your hand to touch his face, or to play with his hair, and he would smile at you like he’d never even considered being annoyed with you. 

He was everything to you.

And those nights, when he looked at you like that, it was easy to believe that he felt the same about you.


End file.
